


Once In Every Lifetime, Or, Being a Treatise on Growing Up, Alone and Together

by carolinecrane



Category: Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rick uncovers a vast government conspiracy, Vyvyan eats all the biscuits, and Mike is still the man with the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once In Every Lifetime, Or, Being a Treatise on Growing Up, Alone and Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistresscarlett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistresscarlett/gifts).



> Many thanks to Kastaka from yulechat for the speedy beta!

“Vyvyan, you bastard! You knew I was saving those biscuits for my tea.”

“I’ve left you a bit,” Vyvyan said as he popped the last bit of biscuit into his mouth.

“What, an empty packet?” Rick answered, pulling the offending item out of the cupboard and holding up the evidence.

“There’s a few bits down the bottom.”

Rick let out an exaggerated sigh and slouched over to the bin to drop the packet in, then he straightened up with a grimace and clapped his hands together. 

“Never mind that, I’ve got to hurry or I’ll be late for the protest. I’m covering it for the magazine. The editor’s as good as promised me the cover this time.” He pulled his jacket on, straightening his ‘Meat is Murder’ and ‘Feminist’ buttons before he picked up his bag.

“If you see that bloody hippie, tell him I’m going to smash his face in.”

“I will not,” Rick answered as he smoothed down his collar. “Besides, you know perfectly well he’s not a hippie anymore. He’s a respected member of the pharmaceutical community, as well as a known fascist.”

Vyvyan made a rude noise that Rick knew from years of experience translated as ‘not bloody likely’. “He’s a poof, is what he is. Just because him and his hippie mates tried to eat the wrong kind of mushrooms and invented a cure for...what’s it again?”

Rick rolled his eyes and pulled his scarf around his neck. “Something to do with cancer cells. But that doesn’t excuse them using test animals in their laboratories. This protest today is going to make that clear, and if the company won’t hear us, we’ll take it all the way to Parliament.”

“Didn’t invent a cure for being a poof,” Vyvyan grumbled, slouching a little further on the couch and picking up the remote.

“If you’re going to lie about the house all day, you could try to tidy up a bit,” Rick said, pursing his lips and tugging his bag a little further up his shoulder. “I’ve done it the last two times, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Oi, who did the carpet in the bedroom?”

“For the last time, tipping over an entire bottle of bleach ‘to see if it would really clean up a crime scene’ and then dragging the carpet down to the bin does not count as tidying up.”

“It ought to,” Vyvyan insisted. “Got rid of the blood stains, didn’t I?”

“After you put them there in the first place,” Rick answered. He lifted his chin and tied his scarf into a neat knot. “Right, I’m off.”

“Give us a kiss, then.”

Rick rolled his eyes, but he crossed the room and leaned down, letting Vyvyan use his scarf to pull him forward for a sound kiss.

“Be home by teatime,” Rick promised.

“Pick up some biscuits on the way,” Vyvyan called after him, and if he wasn’t already late for the protest, Rick would have taken the time to tell him what he could do with his bloody biscuits.

~

“This is heavy, man.”

“Yeah. Heavy,” Neal said without looking at Neil.

They’d been watching the protesters since they arrived, waving their signs and chanting something they couldn’t hear through the closed window, but Neil was certain it was about them, and it was probably a bummer.

“What do you think they want?”

“Dunno. Perhaps they hate mushrooms.”

They both turned to look at their crop, growing in neat rows under grow lights at the back of the greenhouse. Neil didn’t know much about what the mushrooms actually did, but he’d always been a fair gardener, and Mike said the people he sold them to said Neil’s were the best.

“If Mike was here, he’d know what to do,” Neil said, turning back to stare forlornly at the protesters.

“Yeah. Bummer,” Neal answered. “Say, isn’t that one of your old flatmates?”

He pointed toward the edge of the crowd, and after a few seconds of squinting at the faces down below, Neil spotted Rick. “Typical. One of my own mates turns up to shout at me, and I still don’t know what they want.”

“You could ring him up and ask.”

“Right on,” Neil said. He picked up his cell and pressed Rick’s speed dial, and a few seconds later he watched Rick pull his own cell out of his pocket.

“Rick speaking.”

“Hullo, Rick.”

“Oh, hello, Neil. Sorry, I can’t talk just now; I’m busy covering this protest for the magazine. They’ve promised me twenty quid and the cover,” Rick said.

“Hey, that’s really amazing,” Neil answered. “Listen, Neal and I were just wondering what all the shouting’s about.”

“Well, obviously we’re protesting the unjust use of innocent animals in the testing of medical products,” Rick said. “That is, these protesters are protesting. As a member of the press, I can’t officially take sides.”

“Oh,” Neil said, though he still didn’t understand what the shouting was about. “Looks a bit cold out there. Do you want to come in and warm up some before you go back to shouting?”

Rick didn’t answer for a long moment, then Neil saw him glance at the rest of the protesters and nod. “Alright. Don’t mind if I do.”

He hung up the phone, and Neil watched him say something to the people around him. They didn’t look as though they much cared, but Rick hurried across the street anyway, ducking into the building and pulling the door shut behind him.

“Hullo,” Neil said. “You remember my friend Neal.”

“Hippie,” Rick said, sneering in Neal’s direction. “Don’t think I’m condoning what you two are doing just because I came in. I only took your invitation to force you into an exclusive interview for my article.”

“Right. What’s it about, then?”

Rick let out an exaggerated sigh, but he took the cup of tea Neil poured for him. “It’s about the unjust treatment of animals in your medical experiments, of course. And don’t act as though you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Right,” Neil said as he offered Rick a tray with milk and sugar. “Only we don’t.”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me,” Rick said, narrowing his eyes at first Neil, and then Neal. “We all know you’ve got them stashed about here somewhere. Wee mousies and furry rabbits, perhaps even a hamster or two. Vyvyan was not impressed to hear that, let me tell you. Where are they, then? Have you stuffed them all into some cupboard and hoped we’d just go away?”

“We haven’t got any animals, Rick,” Neil said. “All we’ve got is our mushrooms.”

“You expect me to believe you aren’t conducting medical experiments with your ‘mushrooms’?” Rick asked, chin high and pointed at Neil in what Neil would consider a menacing way if he hadn’t known Rick since college.

“All we do is grow the mushrooms, man. Then Mike takes them and sells them. He says it’s for science.”

“Mike,” Rick spat, eyes narrowing and his grip on the teacup tightening so much Neil hurried to get a towel in case it broke. “I might have known. And where is Mike at the moment, if I might ask?”

“Said he had to see a man about a camel,” Neal interjected, shrugging when Rick glared at him. “Dunno what he wants with a camel. Perhaps he wants it for those medical whatsits you were on about.”

“Right. This changes things,” Rick said, setting his teacup down and reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’m about to break this story wide open, and those corporate fat cats at the NHS will never see it coming. Also I’ve got to pick up some biscuits for Vyvyan.”

“You’re still coming round for supper, right?” Neil asked. “I’ve made a fresh lentil loaf.”

“Yes, yes, of course, looking forward to it.” Rick glanced up from his phone long enough to nod at Neil. “Vyvyan sends his love.”

“Cheers,” Neil said, waving at Rick’s back as he hurried off to get his expose written before the next issue went to press.

~

“Mike, international business mogul and playboy, looks up expectantly from his authentic Moroccan breakfast.” Mike paused in his narration to take in the appearance of his assistant. This one was young, fresh out of some American university and a bit serious for his taste, but he was working on that. “What's the matter, love? Didn't get enough last night?"

“This came for you,” she said, dismissing his question with a roll of her eyes. She handed over a package wrapped in brown paper and sat down to help herself to tea.

“No need to be so buttoned up, doll, we’re on holiday. And I'm not just talking about your blouse.”

“You said you were coming here on business.” She looked up from the _khobz_ long enough to glare at him, and she didn’t stop even when Mike flashed his most winning smile. 

“Business _and_ pleasure, baby,” he said. “And just as soon as I get the business out of the way, we can get on with the pleasure.”

“Just open the package,” she said, but when he opened his mouth to offer to show her his package, she held up a hand. “If you say it, I’m quitting. I don’t care if they deport me.”

“Alright, love, no need to do anything drastic,” Mike grumbled. He reached for the package and unwrapped the paper to reveal a rolled up copy of that bleeding heart magazine Rick was always on about.

For a few seconds he wondered why Rick would bother to send him a copy when he knew full well Mike wouldn’t read it, but when he caught sight of the cover story he understood. “That cheeky bastard.”

“What?” his assistant asked, forgetting how much she despised him long enough to pull the magazine out of his hands. “Oh my God.”

“Not to worry,” Mike assured her, grinning when she glared at him again. “The only people who read it are the loonies who stand outside buildings waving posters and shouting about how unjust the world is. It’ll be lining bins all over Britain by week’s end.”

“Yeah, but is it true?”

“Only in a manner of speaking.” He reached across the table to pull the magazine out of her hands, but she leaned away from him and flipped to the story.

“You told me you were a club promoter.”

“I am, baby, I am. There’s always a party when Mike the cool guy shows up, isn’t there?” he said, smiling and swinging his arms wide, barely missing a waiter who was delivering tea to the next table. “I just dabble in sales on the side.”

“Liar. This is why you couldn’t get us into that club last weekend. There was no fire alarm. You weren’t even on the list, were you?”

“Course I was, love. Come on now, you can’t believe everything you read,” Mike said, finally managing to snatch the magazine out of her hands while she was busy gloating.

“And all those ‘shrooms in your office, the ones you said you were moving for a client. Those were totally legal, weren’t they?”

“Strictly speaking, they’re medicinal,” Mike answered, rolling up the magazine and stuffing it inside his coat pocket. “They’re just not hallucinogenic.”

“Unbelievable. So when you said you were in ‘pharmaceuticals’, you actually meant that you’re _in pharmaceuticals_.” She shook her head and let out a little laugh, but she didn’t bother letting Mike in on the joke. “So what are we doing in Morocco? If you brought me all the way to the desert just to try to get in my pants...”

“Spice market, love,” he said. “Lots of holistic remedies, and you can’t beat the prices. Thought I’d get us out of the cold for a bit and explore a new market at the same time.”

“I should quit, you know.”

“Now don’t go making hasty decisions, baby. Let’s talk this through.”

“Fine. We can start with you never calling me ‘baby’ again,” she said, downing the last of her tea before she stood up. “If you prove you can handle that, we can negotiate the rest of my terms.”

Mike watched her walk away, admiring the view before he realized that was probably going to be off limits at some point as well. He sighed and pulled the magazine out of his pocket again, frowning down at Rick’s byline on the cover.

“Right,” he said, reaching for his phone. "Mike the international business mogul, doing damage control."

“Neil, baby,” he said when the line connected, “I can explain about the mice.”


End file.
